


This Could Be Paradise

by VirginiasWolf



Category: Death in Paradise, The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-07-08 22:32:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19877146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VirginiasWolf/pseuds/VirginiasWolf
Summary: Surely our Librarians would immediately know if the local brewpub was actually run by fictionals. Maybe not, considering said fictionals are thousands of kilometers from what should be home and considerably less dramatic than the variety the team is used to.This is a series of drabbles playing with what is essentially a fix-it AU for the terrible wrong Death in Paradise did to Richard Poole and how the library team responds to and interacts with fictionals that have been existing right under their noses. Drabbles will not be presented in chronological order, but will deal with how these two wildly different universes interact.





	1. Beer is Art

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to comment and tell me if you enjoy this universe or ask questions about it. Also, unfortunately, the urine made craft beer part is true with the exception that I may have gotten the festival country wrong. Also, this note has to be before the drabble otherwise it will put it on the next chapter :/

Over the course of one weekend, Richard had dove headfirst into multiple books on the brewing of craft beer.

  
Camille for her part hadn't exactly been uninterested; she just felt like she already knew enough about craft beer from life on Saint Marie, unless of course, the change in universe had drastically changed the entire brewing process. Just in case it had, she'd looked up a couple of articles online and found out the process was largely the same other than accounting for the temperature differences between the tropics and Portland, Oregon.

  
So instead she'd picked up one book on the history of stills and pretended to read it while instead reading the man next to her. He was a much more interesting read anyway; chewing at his lip and wrinkling his brow when something confused him. In those moments she'd wanted to lean over and kiss those adorable thought lines, but she'd restrained herself. There were things she'd learned about him since they'd come to this world that had made her more determined than ever that she would have him, but she would try dropping hints before diving straight in. Of course, she'd already tried to reach out with her most overt attempts at charm and wiles, but he was still a man who required baby steps so as much as it frustrated her, baby steps were what she was determined to take lest she startle him and end up losing him here like she apparently had in their world.

  
Not to mention, startling him would throw off his equilibrium just enough that in the short term she might lose the other, even more, adorable moments; the ones where his body language would give just enough of a warning that she could pretend she'd actually been reading before he'd look up from his own book and excitedly ramble off some fact he thought she'd find particularly interesting. Most of it was the kind of information that was only useful if they planned to also arrest their craft beer for murder, but the boyishly excited way Richard delivered each scrap of information made her look forward to the next one.

  
By the end of the weekend, she was sure they had enough information that they could at least start attempting to be hands-on with the process of brewing beer, which of course was absolutely essential to running the brewing half of a brewpub.

  
One month later, that fact seemed to be debatable.

  
"Oh my God Camille, this is the bloody worst thing I've ever tasted!" Richard spat the drink onto the floor, his face contorted into a mask of pure disgust that actually rivaled the look he got when tasting bad tea.

  
Camille's first instinct was to assume that a bit of his English dramatics had come into play. After all, this was the man who had insisted that her mother's chicken soup, which was really quite delicious, tasted like it came from a donkey's butt. To add, her own research on craft beer had indicated that it had even been made from such outrageous materials as the urine of people who attended a particular Norweigan music festival, so even if the flavor was a little disgusting, somebody was bound to love it enough to drink it if they slapped a catchy label on the bottle.

  
Expecting to prove him wrong, she snatched the sample bottle from his hand as he continued to grimace. "Being overdramatic must be an English thing. I swear I have never met a French person who whines as much as you do!"

  
The moment the liquid hit her tongue, she realized that for once his dramatics were actually completely deserved. The beer somehow tasted like something that was both burnt and undercooked, and also a bit like seafood, an ingredient that was absolutely never near the still. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing her go to hysterics as quickly as he had, she managed to actually swallow the liquid, the taste so awful that she couldn't even find satisfaction in how his eyes widened in horror at her accomplishment.

  
The words she had to say next almost tasted worse than the bad beer. "For once, your English intuition was completely right."

  
"As delighted as I am to hear you finally admitting that I am indeed correct, I have to ask exactly what we are going to tell your mother."

  
Camille had almost forgotten that part. Catherine had been increasingly antsy, reminding them that she'd managed to get the pub part of everything flourishing using only the slightest amount of white magic, and she had. For that, Camille was immensely proud, but of course, this had meant she assumed that because the results from the brewery side were slower to come by, they must not be working as hard as she was.

  
At one point she had even had the gall to insist that they must be making wild love in the brewery instead of actually working. Of course, this had caused Richard to turn bright red, no doubt thinking about how by that point they actually had done that particular activity, just not in the brewery. With Richard incapacitated by embarrassment, Camille had been forced to be the one to talk her mother down in that situation, pulling out a ridiculously cheesy sounding turn of phrase about how a good beer was like a good piece of art and couldn't be completed overnight.

  
Cheesy phrasing might not work as well with the admittance that an entire batch of beer would have to be thrown out though, but Camille managed to steel her resolve. "I think this would be a time when we show the results of our work instead of telling about it."

  
The only thing left would be to make sure Richard wasn't the one who handed Catherine the beer.


	2. Still Not Sherlock Holmes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn just really needs to stop assuming every British fictional is Sherlock Holmes. At least he doesn't tell Richard that he loves him, because that would be really weird.

Catherine's Place, the brewpub that the library team has been eating at regularly for over a year now, must be short-staffed tonight. At least that's what Eve surmises by how two of the co-owners, the ones whom she's pretty sure normally work in the brewing part, are helping serve tables along with the third owner who normally stays behind the bar chatting with patrons as they come up to pay.

  
The male owner is nothing short of completely awkward at this, which makes sense because Eve has long since decided that this man could be Flynn's twin in personality despite being British and sporting much nicer suits than her beloved other half who is currently also being completely awkward in the booth next to her.

  
Still, it is nothing short of amusing watching the way in which this not Flynn reacts as his partner occasionally stops to playfully tease him with phrases like, "You must straighten your shoulders, Sir," or "I believe most patrons prefer some form of eye contact."

  
Surprisingly though, she is actually the one that makes the mistake. When pausing to clear off the team's table, the woman balances one plate too many and they all come crashing down, cutting her hand in the process.

  
The woman immediately begins muttering what seems to be French swear words, and Flynn, who is the closest to her, looks on with concern before quickly grabbing a napkin to help staunch the bleeding.

  
It almost seems to be a sweet gesture until he suddenly gasps, "You're a fictional!"

  
At first, Eve doesn't see what set Flynn off, and she suddenly wants to crawl in a hole and hide. Not only will they be forced to explain exactly what a fictional is, using a false answer of course, but there's certain to be emotional distress involved as well and to top that off, they've garnered the attention of the other two owners as well as several of the remaining patrons.

  
Luckily, the woman seems more annoyed than distressed by Flynn's accusation. "That is hardly a question you can expect to get an answer to if you keep drawing attention to us. Now, if you will excuse me, I must find the first aid kit."

  
As she turns to leave, Eve finally notices that the blood that is staining her brown skin is indeed black.

  
In the immediate aftermath, the other two owners initially crowd around the injured woman before the woman who normally runs the bar and restaurant area turns to the awkward man and firmly tells him, "Richard you can bandage up Camille while I smooth things over with our Librarians."

  
At the last word, Eve feels a chill go down her spine.

  
The rest of the evening surprisingly becomes more pleasant than Eve expects, with the older woman, Catherine presumably although Eve had never asked, insisting that if they stick around after closing time all will be revealed.

  
There is something almost practiced about the way in which the team is asked to sit, and it seems to almost fall as an inside joke between the fictionals, with the previously awkward Richard now seeming to take on a new confidence in his role. Despite this, Eve notices that her own team ranges from Ezekiel being about to fall asleep to Flynn looking like he's almost vibrating with the secret revelation he feels he is about to discover.

  
Richard pauses mid-pacing and opens his mouth as if to say something, but before he can speak, Flynn forcefully cuts him off. "You're Sherlock Holmes!"

  
Flynn's shouting seems to startle the whole room, and even Ezekiel bolts up from his half sleepy state, but perhaps the most amusing reaction is from the fictional who looks at his two companions as if to ask what exactly he is supposed to do now. However, it is not the look of someone who has just had their secret identity revealed.

  
After taking a moment to gather himself, Richard turns back to Flynn with a glare of indignation in his eyes. "Did you just assume that I must be Sherlock Holmes because I'm British?"

  
"You kind of did, mate," Ezekiel interjects.

  
The room seems as if it is about to dissolve into some sort of tense disagreement when Catherine, who has been standing behind the bar, decides to smooth things out. "I can assure you that none of us are Sherlock Holmes."

  
"Well then who are you?" That was Jake. It is a bit of a blunt question, but Eve quickly realizes that the mortal members of her team have every reason to be tired.

  
Richard, however, is more than a little annoyed. "Oh for crying out loud, don't tell me we're that obscure." When only blank stares are garnered he grudgingly turns back to Camille who is standing close behind him and holding a book in her uninjured hand.

  
Immediately, she hands him the book and he tosses it to Flynn who fumbles for a second before catching it. When it is finally still in his hands, Eve can see that it is titled _The Killing of Polly Carter_ , with the subtitle _A Death in Paradise Novel_ at the top of the cover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously making this note for the Librarians fandom readers only, but Death in Paradise is a TV series that has tie-in novels.


	3. Not Mandarin or Latin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This particular chapter doesn't actually involve any of the Librarians characters but instead again deals with Richard Poole and Camille Bordey just interacting with the universe, which isn't exactly surprising since half of my intention with this fic was exploiting the fictionals concept to give Richard what he deserved. Also, the drabble title does reference a line from episode 1x04 of DiP "Missing a Body?" which may be a tipoff that it is meant to be more DiP centered.
> 
> Actual Drabble Summary: Crossing universes certainly hasn't made Richard any more perceptive in certain matters. Also, where exactly are Camille's pants?

Richard is completely engrossed in his cooking, which is almost adorable considering how tonight's meal is merely grilled cheese sandwiches made from the kind of cheese that could easily be purchased in any Portland deli. Not exactly the kind of pompous standards that Camille had grown to expect from the man, but as she once stated before, she actually quite enjoys when he is just human, or as close to human as they can be considered under current circumstances.

  
Having finished making the first sandwich, he stops to plate it and place the plate on the dividing half wall between the kitchen and living room before pausing to undo the buttons on the front of his pajamas. Apparently, the heat of the stovetop has gotten to him, and while Camille secretly wishes he'd just discard the top entirely, this view is still nice enough.

  
However, after giving him enough time to be able to come close to finishing the cooking, she is on the move. Silently she makes her way out of the living room and into the kitchen, creeping up behind the man at the stovetop.

  
For a second, Richard flinches when she wraps her arms around him from behind, but his mind moves quickly albeit to the wrong conclusions. "No! The skillet is too hot for you to grab the sandwich from it!" The distress in his voice is palpable, even though if this maneuver was really about getting food she would have sensibly taken the sandwich that had already been placed on the counter. This man is truly so dense that even her attempts at finally being straightforward in her intentions seem to have confused him.

  
"Richard, don't you think that if this was really about food, I would have taken the sandwich you had already plated?" Her tone is teasing, but she is also trying her best to avoid just blurting out her complete intentions. As fun as it is to be a dominant woman in full control of her desires, for once she'd like to give him the chance to figure things out on his own and surprise her by taking the lead.

  
Richard flips off the burner before managing to turn around in her embrace so they are facing each other. "Dunno, perhaps you fancy having them both."

  
At the suggestion that she has been trying to bully him out of a sandwich, presumably using cuddling as her weapon, Camille can't help but burst out laughing which startles Richard who is still half trapped in her grasp.

  
"I fail to see exactly what the humor in this situation is." His green eyes flash with indignation and a little confusion and Camille suddenly realizes that he must feel constricted by her grip.

  
As much as she'd like to keep holding him, she has to remind herself that even if tonight is supposed to be the night she actually outright tells him how she feels, the man still needs to be treated with baby steps. Gingerly, she releases him from her grip, hoping that he doesn't get too far away from her.

  
He isn't a mind reader though, and instead of staying right where she wants him to he moves to plate the second sandwich. "Why don't we eat in the living room?"

  
It seems to be an almost obvious choice considering how their small dining table is covered with an assortment of historical texts and manuscripts that help to explain what it means to be a fictional, but she decides not to call him out on this and instead goes to the fridge to take out two beers while he carries their plates over to the couch.

  
Richard had been relieved to find out that this universe had Antiques Roadshow, although of course in Portland it would be an American version, not the one hosted by his beloved Fiona Bruce, who also exists in this universe, which Camille still delighted in teasing him about. Still, tonight she doesn't mind him wanting to watch it while they eat. It seems sensible to keep him lulled into the familiar and maybe by extension loosen him up enough that he will still become clear-headed enough to be the one to make the first move.

  
After her plate is empty, Camille decides that another gentle nudge won't exactly hurt. The man is currently too focused on an antique Chinese vase onscreen to pay attention to exactly what she wants from him, and anyway, touch is a healthy part of any relationship.

  
Trying to play it off as casual tiredness, Camille leans her head onto Richard's shoulder. He allows her to relax against him like this for a short period of time, but then he does something completely surprising, although not in the direction she had hoped.

  
Slowly, he reaches out the hand from his other arm and places it on her forehead.

  
"What are you doing?" Camille twists out from under his hand, sitting up fully again and wishing she hadn't had to.

  
"I'm checking you for signs of fever." He looks at her as if he has just provided the most obvious answer. There is more than a small degree of concern mixed in too. He may be acting like an absolute idiot, but she can fully see why he would be worried about thinking that although she is now immortal she has somehow become ill. He's being so very sweet, that she is actually prepared to lean in and kiss him right now even if that qualifies as her making the first move, but then he continues speaking. "You're very clearly not being yourself right now, which points towards some form of illness; lethargic, unusually clingy and you seem to be overheated judging by your lack of pants."

  
So he had noticed that, although not for the reason she had hoped which was that he'd be unintentionally sent into a frenzy of enlightenment by her bare legs and lacy black panties. Maybe she has been reading him wrong. Maybe he isn't interested in her like that at all, and she has been playing herself for a fool and this thought means that she ends up being the infuriated one.

  
Rising from the couch she quickly manages to make her way back to her bedroom before letting out a primal scream of rage and curling into a ball on the tropically printed comforter. Her face is buried in an attempt to stifle the sobs that come too quickly, so she doesn't actually see him enter the room and only notices his presence when a hand begins awkwardly stroking her spine through the fabric of her shirt. Or at least she assumes it must be his hand, for she doesn't want to give the good graces of actually raising her head to look at him.

  
He remains silent for a period of time, with the only sign of his presence being the rhythmic movement on her back. Suddenly, he pauses and she can hear him mutter, "Oh...well that's very interesting. I suppose I've been a bit of a fool haven't I?" As soon as he's finished his muttering, he pauses to pull himself closer to her so that their bodies are pressed together. "I'm going to need some rather grand romantic gesture to earn your forgiveness for this blunder, aren't I? Can you at least look at me? I can't bear the thought that I've made you so upset that you won't even make eye contact."

  
She looks up, half expecting him to now have ironically diverted his gaze, but instead, he holds eye contact, and his expression is filled with a warmth and affection that makes her realize that of course, she hadn't previously been reading him wrong about his feelings for her.

  
Softly, he reaches out to wipe the tears from her cheek using the pad of his thumb. "I'd be lost without you Camille, especially in this strange new world. I only hope you can forgive me for being so dense."


	4. Four Hundred Years, Give or Take

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is shorter and I don't like it nearly as much as some others, although I may do a non-crossover connected separate drabble involving the shippy Fleviarty stuff.
> 
> Anyway, the fictional that canonically most strongly influenced Flynn and Eve's lives is back. He still hasn't recovered from that nasty stab wound Prospero gave him though.

"I may be immortal, but I'm still an old woman." Catherine stretches and yawns before looking around at the gathered table. She follows this with a sympathetic look that is only meant for the other women to see. Because she lives above the bar, she has a way to escape from how her son-in-law and Flynn Carsen have been obliviously discussing scientific discoveries involving worms for the last hour. Camille and Eve are not nearly so lucky. Knowing that the men probably won't even realize she's leaving otherwise, Catherine also pauses to briefly pat Richard on the shoulder before heading towards the door to the stairs.

  
Before opening the door to her apartment stairs she pauses to look out the front window into the parking lot, which is dimly illuminated by the light from a street lamp although the glistening white snow does make everything look brighter.

  
Not taking her eyes off the scene she speaks, trying to keep the worry out of her voice. "There's a man lying in the parking lot."

  
The conversation from the group in the booth immediately ends. By the time the four have risen, Catherine has already opened the bar door and is outside.

  
Camille is about to chide her mother on how you don't just rush out into the night in the Portland winter, as it's hardly Saint Marie, but there is a man outside lying about twenty feet from the door in the snow.

  
He's clearly injured and is lying on his stomach seemingly having collapsed before reaching the door, but there is something incredibly strange about the way he is dressed. Not only is it extremely inappropriate for the Portland winter, a strange woven leather vest with black pants and a white button shirt, but it seems to be somewhat outdated too. The strangeness of this man only gets stranger when Camille glances back to see that Flynn and Eve have both completely frozen in place, looking almost sickly pale.

  
Catherine notices the strange reaction too and looks between the frozen pair and the likely freezing man with an annoyed expression on her face. "We need to get this poor man inside before he freezes to death."

  
It is only after Richard wraps his winter coat around the still face down man's shoulder's that the librarian and the guardian seem to unfreeze.

  
"He's been stabbed by a magic staff," Flynn blurts out, "and we need something to help lift him!" There is a certain panic in his voice as if he already cares about the stranger.  
There isn't really time to think about how strange this claim is though, and someone leaves to grab a tablecloth that they can try to place under the man to help lift him. For a time, thoughts must be focused on this process as the unconscious man is rather solidly built, but soon he is lying on the floor of the bar.

  
Catherine fixes the librarian and the guardian with her most solid glare; the one that spoke murder and damnation upon all who dared ignore it. "I think you owe us some answers on why this man is bleeding-" she glances down at the floor and immediately falters. The man's leather vest has now been removed, and the blood issuing forth from his wound is black, just like her own would be.

  
This is one revelation that doesn't seem to shock Flynn and Eve, which is rather startling considering what it represents. The seeming tight-lipped attitude has managed to annoy the awake fictionals, and Richard can't help but remark sarcastically, "I suppose next you're going to claim that you know this man. Or is it just a little known fact that all fictionals get stabbed with something?" At the last part, he lets out an involuntary shudder.

  
"He's Professor Moriarty, and we were both there when he was stabbed."

  
Richard, Camille and Catherine all exchange a shocked glance. They may not be privy to everything that happens within the library, but it would have been thought that seeing another fictional get stabbed with a magic spear would have come up as a conversation topic at some point during the evening; unless of course the librarian or the guardian had done the stabbing.

  
There must be something in the shared body language that tips off how unnerving the comment must have been, and Flynn defensively shoots off, "It was four hundred years ago!"

  
Somehow, this addition does not help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if people will consider this a problem since the majority of my readers (or at least comment leavers) seem to lean more towards the DiP side of things, but because this is mainly the universe of the Librarians characters and therefore we know about their daily lives here, there will likely never be a "Lib-centric" drabble that doesn't mention at least one of the DiP three. However, because this is not commonly their universe there will be drabbles about the DiP three that mention them without naming any Librarians characters.


	5. Found Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Normally I won't do drabbles that connect directly to eachother across multiple chapters, but I couldn't divorce the Fleviarty (Flynn/Eve/Moriarty) side of that sequence of events from the larger story enough to justify a standalone fic.
> 
> This is mostly a Librarians centric Fleviarty ship fic, but Catherine does play a prominent role (and is hinted at planning to make a Portland version of that oh so famous chicken soup) and there are also a few revelations about Richard and Camille and their relationship that are rather delightful.

Chaotic was an understatement. First, there was the need to explain an abridged version of the history with Moriarty to the other fictionals; a history which conveniently left out the romantic bits even though at one point Flynn had, while drunk and feeling guilty, admitted to Eve that he'd thought he might have loved Moriarty too. Of course, after it was assured that nobody was at risk of getting stabbed, a revelation that seemed to be particularly calming to Richard, there had been the challenge of getting Moriarty off the bar floor.

  
Catherine had graciously offered up her bed as an alternative spot, but of course, that had meant getting Moriarty up the stairs while he only in a barely conscious fugue state.

  
There had almost been a second stabbing in his future when he'd accidentally referenced Camille as "that lovely Moor woman," a comment that was only brushed off when it was realized that he still believed himself to be in Shakespearean times.

  
However, there still seemed to be a finality that stated that Moriarty had not put himself on the right track towards making a new ally and Eve was simultaneously relieved and mortified when Catherine Bordey had turned to her daughter and son-in-law and instructed "Go home and make love or do whatever else you would be doing if you weren't here."

  
Even Flynn had blushed at this request, but it had seemed to work with only mild grumbling from the addressed parties.

  
After Richard and Camille left, presumably to go back home, Catherine also left her apartment and headed back downstairs towards the bar leaving Flynn and Eve alone with Moriarty who has slipped back into unconsciousness.

  
Feeling antsy, Eve quietly left Flynn in the room and walked out to the hall of the apartment. One wall was lined with photographs and Eve chose to start at the far end and examine them.

  
The first one was of a different restaurant, this one called La Kaz, and a different crowd of people. Other than her friends, Eve recognized a few faces, but not for the reason she assumed she was supposed to; an actor who had been in a few episodes of Downtown Abbey and a few other notable names from British television for example. She wondered exactly who they were to Catherine.

  
The next photo was a strangely candid shot of Richard and Camille on a porch in front of a beach. Camille was wearing a floral dress with a lei and some kind of tropical flower in her hair and Richard was dressed in a stiff suit not dissimilar to the ones he still wore. Both were clearly laughing at something off-camera. The photo, like the first, must have been something that Catherine had been able to carry over from their universe, and Eve briefly wondered if Moriarty had such artifacts too. Not photos, of course, but things distinctly from his world. Whatever they were, they were very likely lost forever though.

  
The following photos were typical things from this world. The trio posed in front of this bar. Richard and Camille's wedding, which had happened before Eve really knew them. A candid shot of Catherine laughing behind the bar, followed by a few other generic familial shots.

  
Then came one that made Eve pause. It was another candid, but for this one Eve didn't have to guess exactly what had been happening, for she'd actually been present. A laughing Cassandra was holding a drink in her hands, although already too drunk and mere minutes away from blurting out an awkward comment that had made everyone decide that although it was her birthday, she was officially being cut off from further alcohol. There were a few other members of the team, Eve's team, present in the photo. All laughing and smiling. Eve had remembered the photo being taken but had no idea that it had ended up here. On the wall with Catherine's family.

  
Eve was so shocked by this revelation that she didn't hear the older woman until she was right behind her. "You're all part of my family too. Which is the only reason I'm helping to care for this villain of yours," with a sigh she added, "I suppose he can't be any worse than Richard was when he had jungle fever? I could have killed that man then, and at that time he wouldn't have come back from the dead." Before Eve could contemplate that statement, Catherine held up a makeshift first-aid kit, revealing the real reason she had snuck up on the guardian. "I am going to trust that you know how to properly sew up a wound without getting blood all over my favorite sheets."

  
Eve managed to nod quietly even though she wasn't actually sure if this was achievable.

  
Her response seemed to satisfy Catherine who stated, "Good. I am off to see if I can find a pumpkin at this time of night."

  
Eve decided it would be wise not to even attempt to question this particular comment although she hoped there would eventually be an answer.

  
-  
When she returned to the bedroom, Moriarty was still unconscious and Flynn was talking on his cellphone to someone that Eve quickly realized must be Jenkins. "Hypothetically speaking, if Professor Moriarty were to return..."

  
Eve couldn't hear Jenkins response, but she could only assume that the library's caretaker must not be taking Flynn's comment well. After all, why would he be?

After a minute Flynn responded hurriedly. "Actually, it's not such a hypothetical scenario. He's at the bar. No, he's not drunk, but he may have been stabbed."

  
Eve couldn't help but roll her eyes at Flynn's awkwardness, but she had a feeling this conversation could go on indefinitely, so she decided to focus on something more concrete; Moriarty's wound. They hadn't bothered to move him under the covers, so he was still on top of the hideously bright tropical comforter which did at least make it a little easier to not get his blood on Catherine's favorite sheets. Hopefully, this wasn't her favorite comforter though.

  
Carefully, Eve placed the first aid kit on the bedside table and began to undo the fictional's shirt buttons. As she did so, Moriarty stirred vaguely, seeming to come back into consciousness.

  
Green eyes blinked restlessly, taking in Eve and Flynn and the details of the room. It seemed as if the situation was just as unreal to Moriarty as it was to the others. To him however, it seemed that even Eve and Flynn were not real. Finally, he seemed to settle on a question he thought can be answered. "Where am I?"

  
"You're in an apartment above a bar in Portland."

  
This answer didn't quite seem to satisfy Moriarty, but he went quiet for a moment as Eve began to look for sutures in the first aid kit.

  
"What about the others?"

  
Eve initially misunderstood the question. Despite the villainous reputation, it didn't seem out of character that Moriarty would feel bad for accidentally offending someone. "I think Camille will forgive you for accidentally insulting her. She's used to dealing with awkwardness from her husband." Eve noticed with amusement that in place of antiseptic, Catherine had added a bottle of rum. Did fictionals need to have their wounds sterilized, or was it just a precautionary measure?

  
Moriarty tried again while wincing as Eve dabbed the rum-soaked gauze against his wound. "Does she know about my condition...as a fictional?"

  
By this time Flynn had hung up the phone and interjected himself into the conversation. "Oh, I think she took it in stride. Not that weird of a revelation when you're a fictional yourself. Well, maybe a little weird since you're not supposed to be here and stabbing is a bit of a testy topic. Not that other injuries aren't horrific too, but stabbing is just..."

  
Moriarty fixed Flynn with a confused grimace and looked as if he was about to get up and leave to avoid the excess of information he had just been presented with.

  
At least Flynn's rambling had seemed to distract him from Eve's sloppy attempts at suturing. Still, she didn't want him to just walk out alone, only half patched up, and most importantly, away from them, potentially forever. She was now slowly started to get used to the idea that perhaps if he wasn't actually there for nefarious purposes, he could also just become one of the fictionals that was casually a part of her day to day life.

  
With that thought, she found herself kindly shushing Flynn. "Honey, why don't you try giving bite-sized pieces of information instead of delivering it all at once?"

  
Flynn immediately stopped rambling and began to again look adorably concerned, and Moriarty laid back down on the comforter and allowed Eve to continue her makeshift suturing. Not a perfect reunion, but perhaps it was a good start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely sure if Moor would be considered an offensive term, but I assume a European accented black woman living in 2019 would be less than happy to be referenced by it since it is at the very least outdated and therefore possibly sounds negatively stereotyped and possibly more racist. Also, in case you didn't pick up on it, the photo of Richard and Camille which is described is meant to have been taken at Richard's birthday party in 1x05. I'd like to imagine that he did wake up before missing his whole party and was genuinely touched by it and also had a good time. Perhaps him and Camille are laughing because Harry tried to jump into somebody's drink or something of that sort. Oh and of course the person Eve "recognizes" is Gary Carr aka. Fidel.


	6. Uninvited Lunch Guests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What exactly did Ezekiel Jones bring to the bar/restaurant to share lunch with him, and will this "friend" cause more harm than good? And how exactly does Catherine's chicken soup figure into all of this?

"What is that?" Catherine Bordey scowls as Ezekiel Jones slides into a corner booth and tries to hide the bag he has with him. She's grown to love all of the librarians as if they were just another part of her admittedly quite bizarre extended family, but Ezekiel often falls under a definition of what she would best describe as a handful.

"It's a backpack." Ezekiel tries to put on an innocent face as if the bag contains books or some other harmless item.

  
However, Catherine can see a face peeking out of it. Almost human. Almost cute, but not quite and as a result, it is more than a little unsettling. Why she is actually okay enough with this to keep from screaming and running outside during the most crowded time of the day, she will never know. "Do not play coy. Your librarian vagueness will not work on me."

  
The librarian pretends as if it is the first time he has noticed the strange animal inside his bag. "Oh, you mean Freddie. He needed a break away from his family." Ezekiel pauses to lower his voice before adding, "He has six siblings. All sisters."

  
"Okay," Catherine isn't sure exactly how to respond to this comment. "Tell Freddie that he needs to stay inside your bag." Of course, she can just tell the creature herself, but somehow she just wants to put as much distance between herself and it as possible. That doesn't mean she shouldn't protect her restaurant though, and she quickly tells Tara, the waitress that would normally wait on the table, that she will take care of it for her.

  
As she makes her way back behind the bar, it becomes clear that her confusion has not gone unnoticed. Camille is out at the local farmer's market buying fresh produce for the dinner rush, but Richard is behind the register and he immediately shoots her a "Is everything okay?" look. At least he seems to have gotten better at reading social cues, even as everything else around them has turned absolutely crazy.

  
"Ezekiel Jones has bought a friend with him to lunch." When Richard doesn't seem to get the gravity of the situation she adds, "a creature of some sort."

  
Richard at least has the intelligence not to look too panicked, lest it set off the rest of the staff or worse yet, the customers, but he does mutter, "Good Lord, how could he think that was remotely appropriate?"

  
Catherine shrugs. "I have already told Tara that I will wait his table for her, but I think we both should keep an eye on him."

  
At first, things do seem to go relatively well. Ezekiel orders two bowls of her soup, the kind that Richard still refuses to eat, and she can see him spooning one carefully to the thing in his bag. Luckily, this is something that Richard is smart enough not to comment on.

  
Then, of course, the almost inevitable happens. She is in the kitchen yelling at the trainee cook, who is woefully inadequate at his job, and Richard is distracted by someone he is checking out at the till when a woman's scream pierces the air. "Get away from me you weird monkey!"

  
Catherine rushes out, not quite sure what she should expect, but by this time the restaurant has already descended into chaos. People are fleeing; mostly without paying their bills and Richard is hopelessly trying to calm the elderly couple he had been checking out. In the center of it all is Ezekiel's creature messily slurping up another bowl of her soup. To add to this horror, Catherine realizes that she actually can identify this particular monstrosity. She'd never seen one in person before, but she'd heard the reports about them and seen drawings, all of which she had believed pointed to something fake. This creature seems to be a juvenile el chupacabra.

  
Ezekiel is now up out of his booth too, yelling at the creature. "Freddie, come back here!"

  
Catherine decides she is determined to reach Freddie before he does and throw them both out. Possibly even permanently if she remains angry enough.

  
However, Freddie takes advantage of the chaos and in an instant he has scaled the wall, popping into a loose vent that leads into the kitchen ductwork. Not that this whole ordeal was going to be easy, but now it just got even harder. Aggressively she grabs Ezekiel's arm, determined not to let him get out of her sight as she marches towards the registers, where the elderly couple has now thankfully left.

  
"Mr. Jones, you will apologize to Richard for ruining his afternoon, and then I don't want to see either of you again until that thing is gone. Make no mistake I will be calling Colonel Baird, Mr. Carsen, and Mr. Jenkins, and I assume they will find this situation even less amusing than I do!"

  
-

  
Getting an improbable creature out of the ductwork of a restaurant in Portland, Oregon is absolutely not on Richard's list of things he ever wanted to do in his life. Even falling below getting assigned the post of inspector on a sweltering tropical island. Except he'd lived through the above and even found positives in it, so maybe this will have positives too. Nope. That expectation is definitely going too far.

  
The poor trainee cook is practically sobbing and shaking from fear as the thing races through the ductwork while chattering to itself. Richard can't help but feel bad for the kid. Despite what Catherine thinks, he really isn't that bad at his job, and he must have barely just gotten over being traumatized by her yelling before the chaos started.

  
"Sir, what can I do to help?" the young man asks.

  
"Take the rest of the day off Timothy." Richard knows that this means he'll have to be the one to deal with Hurricane Catherine, but the poor kid doesn't need to see this. He doesn't know anything about magic. He knows he's made the right choice when Timothy almost hugs him from relief before dashing out.

  
He's practically annoyed enough that he wishes he could just force Ezekiel Jones to crawl into the ducts and retrieve his damn pet, but they're too small for that, and likely unable to hold a human weight so they have to either dismantle the whole system, which Richard would honestly rather not do, or wait for it to come out on its own.

  
Time to gather information on exactly what he is dealing with. "So, what can you tell me about your creature?"

  
"Well, he's active and curious, but he likes to have time to himself too..."

  
Richard cuts the librarian off with a glare. "That information would all be very useful if we were building a dating profile for him, but we aren't. What can you tell me about his biology?"

  
"He's a chupacabra. They're normally native to the Cari-wait, you should know all of this shouldn't you?"

  
"No, I shouldn't!" Richard can't help but yell, "because before I came into this world, against my will I might add, I was a man of science and your chupacabra is distinctly not scientific!"

  
"He's taking a nap now."

  
"Excuse me," Richard lowers his voice in shock, unsure if he's just heard the younger man correctly, and also becoming aware that the noise in the vent has quieted.

  
"Which would make it rather unwise to awaken him unless you actually want him to become grumpy and destructive."

  
"Great, the bloody chupacabra is taking a nap now and it would be inconvenient to awaken him." Richard buries his face in his hands, barely registering the sound of footsteps that signify more people are approaching. He risks looking up just in time to see Camille with her arms filled with groceries being followed by Jenkins, the library caretaker.

  
"What happened?" both ask at the exact same time.

  
"I think we should start by stating that none of this is my fault," Ezekiel states which causes Richard to stare at him incredulously. There isn't a single part of this whole incident that isn't his fault.

  
This seems to be a sentiment that Jenkins shares, although Camille doesn't seem to have enough knowledge about what has happened to form an opinion and instead goes over to the smaller kitchen fridge and begins to put away the fresh fruits and vegetables from the farmer's market.

  
That's when Richard sees the stockpot filled with Catherine's awful soup and suddenly has what can best be described as a light bulb moment. "I think I know how to get Freddie out of the vent."

  
"I'm sure the rest of us would love to hear your solution Mr. Poole," Jenkins states. It's not exactly a true statement, because at least one person in the room will be quite unhappy with his suggestion, and it happens to be the one who's opinion matters most to him.

  
Still, even if it means having to sleep on the couch, revealing his idea seems to be the fastest course of action. "He seemed to like the soup, which is rather surprising, all things considered."

  
His wife immediately whirls around to fix him with one of her glares. Hurricane Camille has absolutely made landfall. "You are not seriously considering what it sounds like you're considering!"

  
Before it can turn into another full-blown argument, Jenkins intervenes. "A Caribbean dish may be our best hope of luring the chupacabra out of your ducts, an outcome which I think we can all agree is preferred."

  
After a moment Camille's glare softens, but only slightly. "Fine. If my mother asks, you absolutely went behind my back with this."

  
It takes several people to move the heavy stockpot to a chair in the center of the kitchen, directly below an opened vent, and a fan is bought in from the utility closet to further waft the scent of the soup around the room, an act which makes Richard almost want to gag.

  
For a few minutes, nothing happens and Camille almost looks triumphant that she will get to chew out her husband for continuing to mount his attack against the soup, but then a greyish green blur suddenly shoots out of the vent, landing in the stockpot while chittering happily to itself.

  
As Jenkins races to trap the creature, Richard risks a glance at Camille, hoping that he will be the one that is actually able to gloat. Instead, he notices that she now looks almost sickly and pale.

  
Wide-eyed she turns to face him. "I don't think I ever want to see as much as another bowl of my mother's chicken soup."

  
He'll wait to celebrate this particular victory.


End file.
